Page 107 of Inextricably Tied

A girl screams inside the house.

“Trust me.” Char’s fangs flash in a smile. “Building the pack is boring. Ruling is so much better.”

“Hey!” Char nudges Harbinger’s chin, prying her skin from the tarp. “Stop spying on shit. Is that what you’re doing?”

“Is that what you promised Vesta too?” Another memory slips from Harbinger’s grasp, but she catches its tail. “If she gave you phoenix fire to hide the evidence, you’d support her rebellion. You’d join her pack.”

Char’s jaw twitches as he glares down at her. “…gods, you’re a nosy bitch.” He turns to surround Flint with more tarps, always keeping himself out of reach

“But you were never going to let either of them take over the Broadleafs.” Harbinger squirms in her chains. If she makes her hand small enough… “You wanted the title for yourself, but you’re not the Alpha.”

Char turns dark eyes over his shoulder. “Yet.” He flattens out the last of the tarp, pushing back to his feet. “Vesta didn’t care what we were doing, as long as we were strong enough to serve her. Reid was perverse. There wasn’t a reason; he just liked killing girls. We’re the ones who gave those girls a purpose.”

“That’s not their fucking purpose.” Harbinger’s chains scratch the tarp as she fights. “They aren’t there for you to use.”

“But we did.” Char towers over her. It’s dizzying how small she feels. The distance between them stretches, so nauseatingly familiar she wants to retch. “They helped the greater good. Otherwise disposable. Forgettable. Easy to use. Easy to kill. I hardly remember any of their faces.”

“Girls are the reason we found you.”

The corner of Char’s mouth quirks. “And look where that got you. All this for nothing.”

“You were nothing. You needed them.”

His eyes narrow. “They were weak. Barely put up a fight.”

“Those claw marks in the trees say differently.”

He blanches. It’s a small hit of satisfaction, pulse thrumming in Harbinger’s ears. Char exhales, turning away from her. “You know, this whole thing would’ve taken a lot less effort if you would’ve died in the fire. But what can you do?”

Then he moves toward Flint.

Harbinger scrabbles against the ground. Her boots scrape the tarp as Char draws closer, lifting his hand, claws flicking out of his paws.

She screams. Char’s hand slams into the stone of Flint’s shoulder.

“Fuck!”

Char cradles his paw, bent at a wrong angle. He slams into Flint’s armor again, feral sounds filling the cellar as stone chips away near Flint’s throat. It barely leaves a dent. Char pants for breath, wild and incensed before he whirls back to Harbinger.

“No!”

Flint shifts out of his armor. Char’s arm cocks as Harbinger buries her face into the ground, braced for the paw snapping into her leg. Bone crunches. Blood pumps through her ears, drowning out Flint’s roar as pain throbs through her.

Every new hit Char lands against her skin floods her with his emotions. Carnal rage. Vicious hatred. Horrifying apathy. Darkness surges in the edge of her vision, a copper taste pooling in her mouth. Chains clank across the room, but not enough to break free.

Another blow lands in her back. Blood splatters her face, scream cut short as she gurgles for air. Trying to remember any moment before this. Anything but mind-numbing pain.

Everything is slick. Each hit sends her body slipping through blood gathering beneath her. She can’t feel her fingers. Can’t tell if she’s numb from cold or pain — or if her hands aren’t there anymore.

She wants to sleep. To close her eyes and sink into darkness, into the dream with Agony, where she doesn’t have to feel this. Doesn’t have to feel anything.

The tarp is dark with her blood. That can’t be the last thing she sees. It has to be Flint, beautiful and happy, arms curled around her. It has to be Agony, his grinning whisper in the dark, a candle in a darkened window.

Rhythmic thudding starts. Maybe it’s her pulse, but it’s too fast and wet and sickening. Through the blood-slick hair over her eyes, she sees Char’s claws slam into Flint’s flesh.

She reaches for him. She can’t lift her head. Can’t blink. Can only stare at the ground beneath the shelf, toward the glow that emanates from the darkness.

Agony?